After the fire
by Liverpool1
Summary: Set directly after the Disney movie. Frollo is dead and Paris begins its slow recovery under a new Minister for Justice. Phoebus and Esmerelda begin a tentative courtship, Quasimodo is free at last and things begin to get back to normal. However it's not long before a body is found on the banks of the Seine. More chapters will be added soon, it takes me a while to write.
1. Chapter 1

_The flames rose up, reaching hungrily for her like deadly fingers and all she could do was stare at them in horror. The smoke was choking her and soon she would surely suffocate, the man who had brought her to this was watching, rubbing his hands gleefully and laughing to himself. The fire rose higher, so close now that it was already singeing the skin on her feet, soon it would consume her._

Esmeralda woke in a panic, her breath escaping her in short, sharp gasps, sweat glistening from every pore of her body, her heart pounding in her chest, the bedclothes in such disarray that the were tangled around her. She threw them off and sat up, rubbing her face and trying to calm down. It was just a nightmare. She didn't need nightmares, she'd already lived through a real one. One that, for now, was over. She retrieved the bedclothes and settled back on the pillows again, wincing as the mattress pressed against the wounds on her back where she'd been whipped. There was another injury, she peered at it now in the light of what she guessed was afternoon through the tiny window. It was a brand mark in the shape of a cross, just below her shoulder on her right arm and she'd screamed and cursed at those men shrouded in black as one of them held the red hot branding iron against her skin. Each time they caused her pain, each time they held her head under water, nearly drowning her at one point, they asked her questions she didn't have the answers for.

Calmer now, Esmeralda shifted into a more comfortable position, her foot brushed against something furry at the bottom of the bed, she smiled slightly and gave the intruder a light kick. In answer, Djali the goat gave a disgruntled bleat.

"Excuse me, where do you sleep?" She scolded. He made a grumbling noise in his throat as he vacated the bed and his hooves clattered on the stone floor. Up on the wall across from the bed hung a crucifix, the only decoration, the room clearly belonged to a priest. She couldn't remember how she'd got there. She mentally retraced her steps.

After they'd watched Quasimodo being carried across the square and out of sight by his adoring public, she and Phoebus had gone back inside Notre Dame. Neither of them knew what the consequences of the morning's events would be so they'd decided it was safer for them to stay where they were. A priest promised to grant them sanctuary for as long as they needed it and she'd prayed that the crowd would bring Quasimodo back quickly. They'd sat in a pew for a while, her head ached and she was still trembling from her ordeal. She must have fallen asleep because she didn't remember anything else after that. She must have been put in here.

There was a knock at the heavy wooden door.

"Esmeralda!" Called a familiar woman's voice from behind it. She cleared her throat, which still hurt from the smoke.

"Come in, Saffia," she answered as she sat up in the bed and leaned against the headboard. An older gypsy woman entered with a bundle tucked under her arm. She came over to the bed and sat on the edge, placing the bundle beside her. The two women hugged briefly then broke apart.

"I've just come from the court of miracles," the older woman said.

"And?" Enquired Esmeralda anxiously. Saffia shook her head.

"Everything's either been destroyed or looted, it was full of people poking around. We can't go back there any more, the authorities are going to block off the entrance. But we've salvaged what we could and I managed to find these for you, I hope they fit." The woman inclined her head to the little pile of clothing on the bed.

"Thanks Saffia, you're very kind," said Esmeralda quietly. 'Great,' she thought. 'I'm homeless, destitute and quite possibly still a wanted criminal.' She climbed out of bed, the stone floor cold under her feet.

"Would you shut the door?" She asked. As Saffia did so, Esmeralda noticed for the first time that there was some sort of major ruckus going on outside in the main body of the cathedral.

"What's going on out there?" She asked. Saffia shrugged.

"I don't know, when I arrived back here there were soldiers in the square, but they were just hanging around. Half the city's in here, they threatened to barricade themselves in if any soldiers tried to arrest you, even the priests were going to help them."

"You're joking," Esmerelda breathed.

"There's more. Some officials from the government are here now, I think they want to talk to you. Do you want me to help you change?" Saffia finished, changing the subject quickly.

"No, just make sure nobody comes in here." Saffia stayed by the door and leaned on it, her hand pressed against the door handle. Esmerelda turned her back and pulled the grizzly article she still wore over her head. She threw it in a corner in disgust, remembering her guards had stood and watched her change into it, tears of shame and terror pouring down her face as they jeered and whistled, as if it was all some sort of joke to them. She heard Saffia inhale sharply from behind her.

"What have they done to you?" the woman whispered.

"It could have been worse," Esmerelda sighed as she dressed herself in another woman's clothing. Saffia snorted.

"If you say so," she hissed as Esmerelda ran her fingers through her hair in a futile attempt to tidy it, it was no good so she gave up. She padded quietly over to the door where the older woman was still standing. She pressed her ear to the door so she could listen and decide whether or not it was safe for her to leave the room. All she could hear was a jumble of voices she didn't recognize, they were angry whoever they were. She felt Djali brush against her leg as he pressed his ear to the door. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Saffia looking at her with a mixture of concern and disapproval, her black eyebrows knitted together as she frowned.

"What are you doing with him?" She asked quietly.

"With who?" Esmerelda feigned ignorance. Saffia's frown deepened.

"With him, the Captain and don't try to brush me off. I saw you out there on the steps, he had his arms around you. I'm not your Mother but I knew her and your Father. I feel responsible for you, even though I don't know where you are most of the time. Your Mother certainly wouldn't be pleased with you carrying on with a soldier."

"Don't talk about my parents," muttered Esmerelda. Memories she didn't want formed in her head.

_There had been an outbreak of Plague in the town they were living outside. The townspeople, who had previously accepted the presence of the small encampment, began to point the finger of blame at the Gypsies. The men, along with the local militia, gathered together and attacked the camp, she didn't think about anything else, she grabbed her nearly infirm mother and ran for it, dragging the poor woman behind her. In the confusion she had been unable to find her Father but she and her Mother fled to the woods and they managed to get high enough up a tree to be hidden. They watched as their wagons and tents were burned, their horses dragged away. Through the smoke she saw her father. He was on his knees with his hands tied behind his back, his eyes full of fear. He was an old man, nearly crippled with arthritis, he couldn't hurt anyone yet they butchered him like he was a dangerous criminal. There was no one else left and she and her mother had made the difficult decision to make their way to Paris and the court of miracles. But her Mother died a few days later, her grief too much to bear and Esmerelda was left on her own. She'd only been eighteen years old then._

Saffia saw the hurt look on her face and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned them, especially not now."

"It's alright." Esmerelda shook her head to clear it.

"He is handsome though," Saffia said impishly and Esmerelda felt a smile flash across her face, but then it snapped away.

"Listen," she hissed.

"I will have silence!" shouted a man's voice, clear and authoritative. Silence was what he got.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I can assure there will be no more executions today. The soldiers outside are not going to arrest anybody, they were here to arrest Judge Frollo, however, I have since learned he has died, but," he raised his voice as the cacophony of noise rose again. "I do not attribute any blame, several witnesses saw him fall and I fully recognize that this was a tragic accident, therefore I suggest you all calm down." The man seemed to stop for breath, then he continued in a friendlier tone.

"My name is Louis Simenon and I will be replacing Claude Frollo as Minister for Justice and there are people here whom I need to interview. Archdeacon, may we reconvene to your study? I shall require the use of a desk."

The women behind the door heard the sound of footsteps filter away. They looked at each other.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Saffia asked anxiously.

"No, I'll be fine, you have your children to look after," Esmerelda said. The two of them hugged.

"Be careful," Saffia cautioned before she slipped out of the door.

"She'll be out in a minute," she said to someone else on the other side of the wall.

Esmerelda took a deep breath, counted to ten and left the room, Djali at her heels. Phoebus was leaning against the wall, clearly waiting for her but also appeared to be deep in thought. She mentally netted the butterflies in her stomach and approached. She placed a hand on his arm and it stirred him out of his reverie. He gave her a wry smile and his hand covered hers.

"Is it true? Are we off the hook?" she asked.

"Thanks to the Archdeacon. He paid a visit to his superiors and they requested an audience with the King." Esmerelda's eyes widened.

"No way," she whispered. She gazed across at the door to the Archdeacons study and bit her lip fearfully, she didn't want to go in there one little bit. Phoebus must have noticed the look on her face.

"They just want to talk to us, that's all," he said soothingly.

"Yes, but will they listen as well?" Esmerelda asked quietly.

On opening the door to the Archdeacons study, they found the room packed with people, all talking amongst themselves. There were rich and poor people, men and women and a few children, Gypsies and Parisian's all standing together. Their talk turned to whispering as Esmerelda and Phoebus made their way to the front of the throng. They found themselves standing in front of a desk. At the desk sat a grey haired, slightly balding man. He was writing with a quill and didn't look up from what he was doing. He was dressed like Frollo used to dress but his robe was stained and his hat was on the desk beside him, the ribbon was frayed. Behind him stood three richly dressed gentlemen, the Archdeacon and another man of the cloth in ruby red robes. Quasimodo was standing looking uncomfortable with his new little friend standing next to him, her mother stood behind. Minister Simenon finally looked up from his writing.

"There is no need to look so frightened, young lady, nobody is going to hurt you," he said. He put down his quill with a sigh.

"Under ordinary circumstances, you would indeed be sent again for execution. But these are not ordinary circumstances and our Holy Fathers here, along with most of the city, insist that you are not guilty of witchcraft." Minister Simenon cast his eyes to the Archdeacon and the priest in the red robe.

"Did you wish to examine the girl, Archbishop Gerard?" He asked. The priest in the red robe approached Esmerelda. He was older than the Archdeacon, his face lined with wrinkles and he smiled at her kindly as he looked her over.

"Do you know of the Devil, my dear?" He asked.

"Yes," she replied carefully.

"Have you spoken with him or seen him?"

"No, Father."

"If he asked you to harm or seduce another person in return for riches, would you do it?"

"No, Father."

Cardinal Gerard nodded. He turned back to the man at the desk.

"Minister Simenon, as was discussed this morning. This girl is no witch, she's just another in a long line of victims, the usual poor foreigner. I've lived a long time and have seen much of the world and I know whether or not someone is lying to me, I have not been lied to here. The accusation of witchcraft appears to have originated from a conjuring trick performed at a festival, but I have seen the same trick performed on numerous occasions. It is an illusion designed to distract the audience's attention while the performer seems to appear in another place. I find it strange that this is what caused all the trouble."

Minister Simenon shifted his attention to Esmerelda.

"I understand you and Minister Frollo had an altercation at the festival, but that doesn't explain the charges against you. Do you know why he thought you were a witch?" He asked. She looked him in the eyes as she remembered.

"He came into the dungeon while his men were using a branding iron on me. He waited for them to finish then he told them to leave. I asked him what I had ever done to him. He said I had bewitched him, he said I sent him visions to haunt him, visions of me that made him think impure thoughts, that made him want to commit impure acts. I denied it and he said it was typical of my kind to lie. He told me my sentence was to be burned at the stake but he said he was willing to strike a bargain with me."

"What sort of bargain?" Minister Simenon's voice sounded far away as she remembered Frollo in front of her, his bony hand reaching to stroke her cheek, telling her if he couldn't have her, no-one else ever would. It made her skin crawl to think of it, the predatorial look in his eyes was something she'd never forget.

"He said if I gave myself to him, and only him, then he'd drop the charges and save my life." There was a ripple of discontent, especially from the women in the room. She looked at Minister Simenon, he was listening to her, his face a grim line, did he actually believe her? She carried on.

"I told him I'd prefer he carried out my sentence. I could tell he was angry because I'd refused him, but he did nothing, he just sneered at me and said he would offer me the same when I was tied to the stake. He said he wondered how willing I'd be to die then."

"Did you invite such an infatuation?" Asked Simenon. "Your performance at the festival was rather risqué."

"That was only meant to make a fool of him, your honour, I didn't think for a minute that I'd do anything else other than that. He hated us and we hated him, he's killed so many of my people. Why would I want him to desire me? Besides that, there were hundreds of other men in the crowd and none of them cried witch." The ghost of a smile flickered across the face of the minister for justice.

"You have a point," he said slowly. His quill briefly scratched across the page in front of him, then he addressed the whole room.

"As I have mentioned before, these are not ordinary circumstances. Normally the three people in front of me, and some others in this room, would be sent to the gallows immediately, however, Claude Frollo's sanity has been called into question several times throughout his career. On each occasion he was excused but this time is different, His Majesty cannot tolerate the wanton destruction of property and lives, not to mention that of this house of God. I myself had never believed Frollo fit for the position he was in and his actions have only confirmed he was not of sound mind." Minister Simenon eyed Esmerelda again.

"Young lady, the King has seen fit to pardon you, but I strongly suggest that you keep out of trouble, you will not get another chance should you be arrested again."

"Thank you, your honour," Esmerelda whispered. Simenon's eyes fell on Phoebus and she noticed he stood a little straighter.

"Captain, I want you to resume your duties forthwith. I sincerely apologize for the way you have been treated and I can assure you it will not happen again. I'm only astonished that you managed to survive after falling in the river."

"I had a little help, sir," explained Phoebus. The Minister for Justice smiled.

"Quite the Amazon, is she not," he remarked and the room descended into quiet giggles which the Minister raised his hand to silence, then he continued.

"I imagine by now the men have become bored out in the square and are probably making a nuisance of themselves, I'd like you to go and remind them they have duties to attend to."

"With pleasure sir,"growled Phoebus, with more than a hint of malice in his voice. He gave Esmerelda's hand a squeeze before stalking out of the room.

"They're for it now," someone at the back giggled and the tension in the room eased a little. Simenon fixed his attention on to Quasimodo, who was staring at his feet and looking as if he really would be grateful if the ground were to swallow him up. Simenon seemed unable to think of what to say to the strange looking boy in front of him, his eyebrows furrowed and, eventually, he said.

"It seems you're something of a hero, young man." Quasimodo blushed.

"She's my friend, sir," he mumbled shyly. Simenon smiled kindly.

"I think we would all be very grateful to have a friend like you," he finished. Then he stood, he shuffled the papers on the desk in front of them until they were in enough of an order for him to carry them easily. Then he looked up.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience this afternoon, you have all been inconvenienced and in some cases bereaved and I must apologize for everything that has happened over the past few days. I am not Claude Frollo, I intend to keep law and order in this city without striking fear into the hearts of law-abiding citizens. I understand that there are hard times ahead, we must try to work together to ensure the city recovers as quickly as possible. Now, I have business to attend to, as have most of you, I suggest we carry on with our lives as best as we can." He stuffed his papers under his arm and he left, the other officials trailing in his wake.

The people in the room started to file out, talking amongst themselves, the Archdeacon and Archbishop Gerard followed, they nodded to Esmerelda as they passed her and she could have sworn the Archdeacon had winked at her. She and Quasimodo were soon left by themselves in the study. They looked at each other sidelong, giggling with relief rather than amusement.

"I'm glad that's over," Esmerelda breathed, she leaned against the desk.

"Me too," agreed the bellringer.

"I'm surprised they didn't punish us in some way, though."

"I think it's called sweeping it under the carpet."

"I think you're right." Esmerelda pushed herself off the desk.

"Well, I'm going home, wherever that might be," she said and she started to leave but stopped in the doorframe. She turned to Quasimodo again.

"Are you coming?"

He looked uncomfortable and shook his head.

"I've got a lot of clearing up to do," he said quietly.

"Ok but promise me you won't stay in here all the time. We're really not that bad out there and no one thinks you're a monster. Do you promise?"

"I promise," he sighed.

"Good," she blew him a kiss and left the Archdeacon's study. She felt guilty about leaving him by himself after all that had happened, but she'd had enough of Notre Dame for a lifetime. She would go and see him tomorrow but for now she had one more thing to do before she left the cathedral. She found the statue of the Madonna and Child, the figures gazed calmly down at her. She closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer of thanks. It wasn't a long prayer as it turned out.

"Are you praying?" Asked a familiar voice from behind.

"I was," she sighed and opened her eyes.

"You gave me quite a scare," said Clopin quietly. She turned.

"I'm sorry I caused you so much trouble," she said but the gypsy king waved away her apology.

"It's in the past now, we can forget about it. We've been allowed to camp by the river near where they're rebuilding the mill, as long as we don't disturb anyone of course."

"And as long as nobody disturbs us," finished Esmerelda, rather more bitterly than she'd meant.

"Quite," Clopin agreed. Then he shuffled his feet and looked shifty.

"Will your boyfriend keep quiet about our previous, er, security arrangements?" he asked.

"Probably, I think he has bigger problems to deal with," she said, then she stopped and frowned. "He's not my boyfriend," she protested but dangling in front of her face was a puppet, a little wooden pig with wings.

"Well, would you look at that. It's one of those," Clopin teased. She made a grab for the thing but he whipped it out of the way and skipped out of her grasp. She shook her head at him as he sauntered off, cackling at his own joke.

She didn't get much further than the bottom of the cathedral steps. She'd had to edge her way past the carpenters who were constructing a new door, some other workmen were trying to chip off the now hardened molten lead that had poured from the cathedral's guttering and been Frollo's ultimate undoing. There was broken masonry strewn everywhere and, right in front of where she stood, was the remains of her funeral pyre, now just blackened, charred wood. The smell of smoke filled the air, making her cough. She prodded some of the wood with her foot, which sent up a cloud of ash. What was she going to do now? She suddenly didn't want to go home, because that would mean walking through the streets of the city where she would see all the devastation. She was frightened people would blame her for what had happened, frightened that someone else would accuse her of witchcraft. She folded her arms and fought back the tears that just then threatened to spill out of her eyes. She didn't want to cry, either. There'd been enough of that when they'd left her alone in her pitch-black cell with the rats scurrying around and the water dripping down the walls. Somehow, waiting in the dark for her execution had been worse than being tortured, all she could do was think and get upset and terrified because she was going to die. But the alternative was worse than death. She'd considered his offer, or course, but it was unthinkable. She saw herself shut away in Frollo's apartment in the Palace of Justice, never allowed out by herself and certainly never treated with any kindness. He would still execute everyone in the court of miracles and the man she loved and she would have to live on afterwards. She'd been horrified at the very thought of having to go to bed with Frollo, the way the man had looked at her had been bad enough. She'd be living with someone who hated her but who wanted to possess her. She was no-one's possession, she'd have sooner lit the fire herself and thrown herself on top of it.

Someone cleared their throat behind her, she turned. Phoebus was there with two soldiers who were carrying spades, he towered over them as they stared at their feet.

"These two are going to clear away this mess, aren't you ladies," he said sweetly and the other two shuffled their feet as he gave them a look that would have turned them to stone.

"Yessir," they muttered. Esmerelda bit her lip to stifle a laugh.

"Of course," she said. "I'll get out of the way, don't work too hard now, will you?"

They didn't look at her as she passed them, they just started shoveling debris.

"I can't believe my eyes," she commented and a wicked grin spread across the Captain's face.

"Oh, I've got worse things in store for them, believe me," he said maliciously.

"Like night patrol near the plague pit?" she suggested.

"And other such delights," he finished. He held out his hands to her and she took them in hers.

"How bad did they hurt you?" he asked. Esmerelda looked at him and smiled.

"I have a few scars and a cough, I'll live," she said. "I guess they were only doing what they were told and we know what happened to anyone who stood up to Frollo."

"We have first hand experience," muttered Phoebus dryly.

"I've had better weeks," said Esmerelda wearily. Then she cast her eyes to the ground, feeling a little foolish. "Would you mind taking me home? That is if you're not busy."

"I wouldn't mind at all," he said kindly.

They walked hand in hand through the now dark streets, goat and horse following. There were so many burned out buildings, many people had died or been made homeless or lost their workplace. But there was hope, people had started to rebuild their homes and groups of men were still hammering and sawing by torchlight. On one street corner a group of rich ladies were handing out food to a line of homeless people. In some of the inns people appeared to be celebrating, music and laughter filtered through the windows. Some of the parties had spilled outside and revelers were dancing and singing. This would not have been allowed a few days ago, but two soldiers passed on patrol and they ignored it. Esmerelda resisted the urge to bolt, she was so used to looking over her shoulder and having run away that it was strange to not have to. For once in a very long time, she felt completely safe.

They passed two women who were placing flowers outside a burned building that had once been the premises of a dressmaker. It was the kind that very rich ladies visited, often carriages were seen drawing up outside. Esmerelda stopped, staring at the black space where the shop had been.

"Why did he burn this place?" She asked, half to herself. "We never hid here, they didn't like us even looking in the window. In fact they used to come out and chase us away if we lingered too long near here."

"Who knows the mind of a madman," Phoebus said grimly. The women with the flowers had turned to leave.

"Who died?" Esmerelda asked. One of the women wiped a tear away with the back of her hand and sniffed.

"The whole family, even the little girl, she was only three," she sobbed before her friend ushered her away.

"That's awful," Esmerelda breathed when they were out of earshot. "Why didn't I just stay in the cathedral till he'd calmed down." Tears sprang into her eyes and she wiped them away angrily with her arm.

"I don't think he was going to calm down," Phoebus said quietly.

"You don't?" Esmerelda sniffed. He shook his head.

"He'd have found some way of getting to you regardless of whether you were in the cathedral or not, it might have taken some time but he'd have done it. He was obsessed with you from the moment he saw you."

"It would have stopped this," Esmerelda gestured with her hand at the dark space where the dressmakers had been.

"If you'd died, there would have been riots then he'd have killed more people and probably burned more buildings down."

"Really?"

"Yes. I saw the crowd at your execution, they were furious. He wouldn't have got away with it without a fight."

"I'd like to believe that," she muttered.

They walked on again slowly, arms linked, her head resting just beneath his shoulder. She was very tired and she imagined he was too but, on reaching the bridge on which he'd been shot, she stopped. She could see the gypsy camp on the other side of the river, a fire was ablaze in the middle of the small group of tents and makeshift shelters, and music was playing. She could see the women dancing around the fire. She sighed, rubbing her face with both hands.

"They're having a party, aren't they," she grumbled. She turned away so she was looking out across the river, the sun was going down casting a golden glow over the water. She leaned against the wall of the bridge and frowned.

"They're happy," Phoebus pointed out.

"Can't they be happy quietly?" She demanded of the world in general. "We're supposed to be keeping out of trouble. It'll only take a few complaints and we'll be back dodging soldiers and getting arrested for nothing again. I can't risk another run-in with the guards, I'll be executed for sure then."

Phoebus brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face.

"The guards aren't going to go anywhere near you or the others," he said. Esmerelda sighed wearily.

"Sure, until a horse gets stolen or a child goes missing. We always get the blame for everything from murder to disease. What will you do when you're ordered to round us up? When you have to put me in the dungeon because someone else starts saying they're having visions?"

"I've thought of that already."

"You have?"

"Of course, I wasn't born last week. I'll warn the Gypsies if there's any sign of trouble and if there's even the slightest mention of witchcraft with regards to you, I'll take you away."

"Where would we go?"

"Far enough so we can't be found."

"I hear the bottom of the sea is lovely this time of year."

He laughed and pushed himself off the wall he'd been leaning on, he stood behind her, his arms circled her waist. A coy smile spread across Esmerelda's face.

"How do you know I'm not going to throw you on the floor again?" She asked

"I'm willing to take the risk."

She rested her back against him, her head just beneath his collarbone. They watched as the sun disappeared below the horizon.

"Never thought I'd see that again," Esmerelda murmured. Phoebus said nothing, he kissed the top of her head and his arms tightened around her.

"You don't think he could have survived that fall, could he?" She asked after a while.

"Only if he suddenly grew wings and flew."

"I know it's wicked to say it, but he deserved it. He did so many awful things, I can't help but hope the Devil makes him suffer. Is that horrible of me?"

"No. If it makes you feel any better I hope he's suffering too and if I'd got hold of him before he fell the Devil would have been the least of his problems."

"You'd have killed him?"

"No, but he'd have wished he was dead by the time I was finished with him and the same goes for anyone else who tries to hurt you."

Esmerelda turned slightly, twined her arms around his waist and nestled close.

"Let's hope you don't have to," she said, but she was secretly pleased that he was protective of her. She raised her hand so she could trace the tear in his shirt with her finger.

"We don't want another incident like this."

"There was one good thing to come out of that."

Phoebus took her hand in his, their fingers entwined. She smiled slightly, if not a little sadly.

"Yes, but can we actually be together?"

"Of course."

She pulled away a little so she could look into his face.

"What about your position? I'll only cause you trouble."

"How could you possibly do that?"

"When most people look at me, they see a thief and a vagrant, someone who's no more than a beggar."

"I don't see you like that."

"I know, but others do and they won't like you consorting with such as I."

"Don't worry about them. I love you, Esmerelda and I won't let you slip through my fingers because some idiots can't mind their own business."

She cast her eyes to her feet and she was relieved that it was dark so he wouldn't see that she was blushing.

"I'm very glad to hear that. Because I love you too, I know we're practically strangers but some things you just know in your heart to be true." Esmerelda's blush deepened, she could feel it burning her cheeks. She stopped studying her feet and looked up again. They kissed, deeply and unashamedly, oblivious to the stares they were drawing from people passing by. Afterwards she wandered down to the now quiet camp and he went home. Her tent was up and not too damaged but it turned out she was sharing with two other girls, she didn't mind though. She crawled onto the mattress that was serving as her bed and went to sleep, a smile on her face.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the following weeks the people of Paris tried to get back to normal. It was hard, especially for the poor but everyone, for a change, appeared to be helping each other. Businesses and homes were being rebuilt. The Government compensated people for their losses, so that they didn't add to the already high numbers of beggars and thieves. Some people left the city to try their luck elsewhere, but most stayed.

Quasimodo was now allowed to leave the bell tower and he was being paid for his services. The first time he ventured out, Esmerelda went with him. He hesitated at the front door of the cathedral, as if he thought lightening would strike him if he stepped over the threshold. Then he took a deep breath and they went out into the city together. People stared at him and pointed, whispering behind their hands, but others considered him a hero and they wanted to shake his hand and buy him a drink. Soon he was going out by himself, she even managed to get him to venture out to her camp where she cooked him dinner and got him to talk about Frollo. He wasn't grieving, he said he didn't know what to feel. The man had looked after him to a certain extent but he'd also fed him lies to keep him inside the bell tower, lies about his mother who had been chased to her death. He said that Frollo had never needed a lock and key to keep him a prisoner, he'd poisoned his mind and made him afraid of the outside world. He didn't want to be afraid anymore. Esmerelda tried to be the best friend she could to him and she visited him whenever she was available. Children seemed to be drawn towards him, possibly because he was like a child himself. There would often be a group of them who sneaked up the narrow stairs of the bell tower while their parents were at prayer.

What was left of Frollo was found under a pile of rubble in the square, only identifiable by a ring still attached to a mangled finger. He was buried without ceremony, there would be no state funeral. Barely anyone attended the funeral and just a simple headstone marked the grave, which quickly became overgrown with weeds. His predecessor proved himself to be entirely different. Crime was still severely dealt with but law-abiding citizens were treated with the utmost courtesy and respect. The soldiers started to listen to people, to be helpful for a change, rather than the brutish thugs they had been before. They left the Gypsies alone to go about their business and they certainly didn't venture near the camp, except to pass it on patrol.

Esmerelda found that her life had changed almost overnight. She could work without being arrested for it, which meant she didn't go hungry anymore and she could walk around the city unchallenged. Her wounds healed and her nightmares became less vivid, she would always have the cross shaped scar on her arm. So far there were no more allegations of witchcraft, which was a relief and most people didn't blame her for the city's misfortune, not within her earshot. She was given a few dirty looks from people in the street but she was used to that, she'd had put up with it almost all of her life. She could best their glares any day. The soldiers themselves didn't go near her, and she stayed away from them, afraid of being carted off to the dungeon again. But there was one soldier she made an exception for. Her friends told her at first that he wasn't to be trusted, that he'd leave her as soon as his head was turned by the next pretty girl that came along. She wasn't the first girl to fall for a man in a uniform, better to drop him before he broke her heart. They changed their minds pretty quickly once they discovered how much he cared for her. Embarrassingly, conversation in the camp turned to whether there would be a wedding any time soon, but they were taking things very slowly. There was no sense in rushing, getting to know someone properly took time and she wanted him to get to know her, the real her. People stared when they saw them together but they were easily ignored. There was a certain amount of gossip flying around, but it didn't matter, they were happy.

In fact, two months later they were still together as a couple. Now she sat opposite him at a table in a little inn near the Palace of Justice. Between them on the table sat a bottle of wine, which they were sharing and beside that sat a chess set. He was supposed to be teaching her how to play. She was winning. She smiled craftily at him and leaned back on her bench resting her feet, complete with the shoes he'd insisted on buying her, onto the bench he sat on.

"Admit it, you can't do anything," she said.

"Hmm," was his response.

"Never mind 'hmm'. You lose. You said if I put that one here and then that one here you're stuck." He sighed.

"It comes to something when the student gets the better of the teacher."

"Ha!" she punched the air. "I win, now should I make you do a forfeit?"

"I'm already doing one."

"Oh. How?"

"Djali's been asleep on my foot for the past hour."

"Well, you know what they say, love me, love my goat."

"Oh, he's just adorable, I love the way he eats random things off the floor and the way his breath could melt steel."

"At least he doesn't ram you anymore."

"A small mercy."

"Sir?" A soldier had materialized at the end of the table, he had his helmet tucked under his arm.

"Yes sergeant?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt your evening off, but I'm afraid we've found a body in the river," the man said in hushed tones, looking around shiftily in case he was overheard. Phoebus stood.

"Sorry," he said to Esmerelda who shrugged and smiled. She was used to his comings and goings and was unconcerned. But the sergeant cleared his throat.

"The lady better come along too, Sir. We have to go to the Gypsy camp." Esmerelda's heart leapt into her throat, this was all they needed. She prayed that the death was found to be accidental, plenty of people fell in the Seine and drowned and turned up later miles from where they'd fallen in. She had no time to think further, Phoebus swung her onto the back of his horse and they set off into the night.

Gypsies and soldiers were gathered in a cluster on the bank of the river, the women in groups of four or five, their shawls over their heads, the men arms folded and solemn. There weren't many soldiers there, maybe four or five keeping people back from the edge of the bank. That was clearly where the body was, Esmerelda was filled with dread but she had to look, in case it was someone she knew.

The body, lying on the bank, was that of a young girl, maybe about sixteen years old and dressed in the garb of a Gypsy. Her hair was matted and tangled with weeds and her skin ghostly white under the torchlight. She was such a small, skinny girl, there was no way she could have fended off a child, let alone a grown adult. Neither could she have swam against the current, the river would have swallowed her whole and spat her out again dead.

"Some little boys found her when they were fetching water for their mother," said Minister Simenon, shaking his head sadly. He was standing by the girl, his robe and boots splattered with mud. "They said she was washed up here where they were standing and I believe them, a fisherman also saw her further upriver, he thought she was a log at first. She could have come from anywhere and we'll have one hell of a job finding any information. No-one here recognizes her." Simenon knelt by the girl and pushed away the auburn hair that was plastered to her head and down her neck. He drew in a sharp breath. The girl's neck was mottled and purple with bruises, she'd been strangled. On his knees the Minister for Justice began to carefully examine the girl.

"Her clothes haven't been disturbed, there are no injuries common to rape, no other injuries at all in fact," he said, partly to himself. "And she hasn't been robbed, otherwise they'd have taken her necklace." He pointed to a teardrop shaped emerald on a gold chain that rested against her collarbone. He stood, not bothering to wipe the mud from his robe.

"This is cold-blooded murder, God only knows what for, poor thing. I think they must have killed her then just shoved her in the river, they didn't even try to weigh her down. It's as if they wanted her to be found". Simenon stopped his musings, he squinted down at the body, then knelt back in the mud again.

"What's this?" He took the girls' cold, dead hand in his and held it up to the torchlight. Scratched by a blade on the back of the hand was a strange symbol, it looked almost like a word but in an alien language.

"What do you make of this, Captain?" He asked. Phoebus bent down to look.

"I don't know, Sir. Perhaps her murderer put it there as a message for someone."

"Yes, but the question is who? We'll take her to the Palace of Justice. I have a list of missing persons, some of them are young girls. She might be one of them, I'll contact the relatives in the morning. I think we should take the necklace round to all the jeweler's in the city, one of them might know who it was made for, it looks valuable."

A stretcher was brought and the girl was placed carefully on it. She was covered in a cloth and the soldiers took her away. Esmerelda wondered what Frollo would have done. Probably he'd have put the girl in a pauper's grave and forgotten about her, one less nuisance for him to deal with. Simenon returned to his horse that was tethered nearby. It was a dumpy, scruffy sort of horse that spent a lot of its time eating and sleeping. It was nothing like the majestic but terrifying creature Frollo had owned.

"He's not questioning any of us," Esmerelda noted. Phoebus shrugged.

"He doesn't have any suspects yet, anyway murderers don't usually tell the law where the body is. Funny thing, though."

"What is?"

"I'm sure I've seen that symbol before, but I can't think where or when."

He left her then and she made her way back through the camp, on the way wondering where everyone had gone, the place was nearly deserted. Her question was answered pretty quickly, most of them were gathered in her tent. She frowned as she entered, three youths who had been sitting on her bed quickly got up, others checked their feet for dirt. All eyes were fixed expectantly on her.

"We're not in any trouble," she said. There was a rumble of voices, indicating that everyone assembled had heard this before.

"_You're _not," someone muttered. Esmerelda rolled her eyes.

"We should leave," came another voice and others agreed.

"If we leave, we'll look guilty," said Clopin, who'd been quiet in a corner until then. "We stay put, we haven't done anything wrong."

"Maybe we can help," Esmerelda began but this was met with groans.

"Here she goes," they grumbled.

"Hear me out. This girl was one of us, chances are she won't be on the missing person's list. Her family or her friends won't have gone to a soldier for help. But we can ask around, someone's bound to know something."

"Us help _them_?" Clopin squeaked, his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "Are you ill? Do you need a physician? Or perhaps a lie down in a dark room?" He swarmed round her feeling her forehead and taking her pulse. She pushed him away.

"I'm not ill," she snapped. "I'm talking about helping whoever's missing her. She's someone's daughter or sister or friend and they don't know what's happened to her." The assembled shook their heads and quietly objected amongst themselves, they'd had enough confrontations with the guards to still be wary of them, they didn't want to get involved.

"Fine," she sighed. "I'll do it by myself. Now it's late, I'd like to go to bed, if you don't mind." They vacated the tent, all except Clopin, Saffia and two other girls who lived there. They were looking at her as if they were about to lecture her. There was a jug of water and a basin beside her bed and she sat down and began to wash her face and hands.

"I suppose if I come across others of our ilk thereabouts, I could mention the terrible death that has befallen a young girl," said Clopin.

"I'm known as a gossip," Saffia shrugged.

"We'll help too, we have to live with you, we don't want the earache," said one of her tent mates, while the other two agreed by nodding.

"Good, but we have to be discreet and careful, we don't want to frighten people, they might not even talk to us. I just think it's worth a try."

"You and your one woman crusade to help humanity," Clopin grumbled before he and Saffia left the tent.

The three girls in the tent settled down to sleep, the candles were blown out and the door flap tied shut. Djali turned round several times before flopping down beside his mistress, she stroked his ear.

"Esmerelda?"

"Yes, Angelica?"

"Are you going to marry Captain Phoebus?"

"It's early days yet."

"Not so early, it's been two months."

"What's the hurry?"

"Nothing. Would you marry him if he asked you?"

Esmerelda smiled to herself in the darkness.

"If I say yes will you shut up and go to sleep?"

"I'll be quiet as a lamb."

"Alright, yes."

"Ha! Knew it."

They were quiet and still for a while, then Angelica broke the silence.

"Look, there's a hole in the roof," she announced. Esmerelda counted to ten.

"We can fix it tomorrow, we'll just have to hope it doesn't rain."

"Well, if it does you can always sneak in to the Palace of Justice."

"_Goodnight, _Angelica."


End file.
